This time, darkness is not the first thing that greets her. Instead, Io finds herself in a vast, otherworldly expanse. The air feels dense, humming with an unnatural energy. Above her, countless stars glimmer faintly, their light cold and sharp, like the edge of a blade. They illuminate her surroundings, but the light seems wrong—too pale, too lifeless.

Io glances at herself. Her body is weightless, translucent, glowing faintly like a dying ember. She feels detached, as though she is no longer entirely human. She floats effortlessly, her movements silent, leaving no trace behind.

“Where… am I?” she whispers, her voice swallowed by the oppressive stillness.

She drifts forward, the emptiness around her pressing in like a suffocating blanket. The stars seem to pulse faintly, as if watching her. Then, out of the void, she notices something ahead—a massive, dark sphere suspended in the distance.

Io hesitates. The sphere radiates an ominous presence, its surface an endless abyss of shadows that twist and writhe like smoke. It seems alive, and it stirs something deep within her—an aching familiarity, a pull she cannot resist.

“What is this?” she murmurs.

Compelled, she reaches out. The moment her fingers brush the sphere, a cold shock ripples through her. The shadows ripple and shift, responding to her touch. Io feels an eerie weightlessness as the sphere moves under her fingertips, gliding effortlessly like a phantom.

As she manipulates it, something begins to emerge—a faint, glowing shape etched into the sphere’s surface.

A white egg.

Io leans closer, her curiosity mingling with unease. The sphere expands, magnifying the egg until it dominates her vision. Around it, flickering yellow flames bloom like flowers, casting long, dancing shadows.

“Yellow fire…” Io breathes, transfixed. The flames are mesmerizing, yet something about them feels deeply wrong. Their glow is sickly, and the air around them crackles with an unnatural heat.

The hunger strikes suddenly.

“They look… delicious,” she thinks, startled by the alien thought. Her stomach churns with an inexplicable need, her ghostly hands trembling as she reaches for one of the flames.

The instant her fingers touch it, her mind fractures.

A flood of sensations overtakes her—disjointed sounds, sharp chemical smells, harsh fluorescent light. She sees through the eyes of another, a male researcher speaking in a cold, detached tone. His words are muffled, like echoes in a cavern.

“Researchers…” she whispers. Io reaches for another flame. This time, the perspective shifts to a female researcher

One by one, Io touches the flames, each one revealing another researcher.

“Hmmm…” Io mutters, her ghostly fingers hovering over the flickering flames. The realization sinks in—the only thing these memories have in common is that they come from those who directly harmed her. But something nags at her.

“Christiana,” she whispers, her voice sharp with frustration. The one who ordered her dissection, and the enigmatic male researcher, are nowhere to be found among these flames.

She clicks her tongue, her irritation breaking the stillness. “There must be a condition for them to appear on this sphere, right?” she muses aloud, her eyes narrowing.

The memories of the hallway flash vividly in her mind—the agony, the suffocating fear, the sharp instruments tearing into her. Her chest tightens, but she feels something else too. Something darker.

Excitement.

A twisted smile spreads across her face. The ghostly glow around her flickers as her emotions surge. “How should I repay them, then?” she asks mockingly, her voice dripping with malice.

Her tongue brushes over her lips, anticipation prickling through her ethereal form. “What would happen,” she says with a low, almost hungry chuckle, “if I touched this flame?”

Before hesitation can take root, Io thrusts her hand into one of the yellow flames. It surges upward like a living thing, wrapping around her, pulling her deeper and deeper. Her entire ghostly body vanishes into the fire.

Behind her, the vast, starry expanse remains still for a moment. The dark sphere floats in silence.

But then, the stars begin to change.

One by one, their pale light dims, and slivers of darkness split their centers. Massive, unblinking eyes peel open, their glowing irises fixed hungrily on the sphere.

The air grows heavy, the eerie silence now thick with unseen tension.

The stars do not move. They do not blink.

They only watch.

---

In the dimly lit laboratory, a male researcher sat slumped at his desk, glaring at the mountain of documents in front of him. His frustration boiled over as he slammed a fist against the table.

“They’ve stuck me with paperwork again,” he muttered bitterly. “No experiments, no hands-on work, nothing.”

His mind wandered back to yesterday’s task. He thought he’d finally get a chance to be part of something significant, but all he had done was help collect samples from dying victims—an unglamorous, stomach-turning chore.

With a growl of annoyance, he kicked the pile of papers to the floor. Sheets scattered like fallen leaves, but he didn’t care. Instead, he reached under his chair and pulled out a small, tattered bag.

“I need to clean this out too…” he grumbled. The memory of the bag’s contents made his stomach churn. It had carried all manner of foul things—things he didn’t want to think about.

He sighed heavily. “How long will I stay a trainee?” he muttered, the words bitter on his tongue.

Then he froze.

His hand lingered on the bag, his brow furrowing. Why does it feel heavier than usual?

“I gave back all the samples, didn’t I?” he asked aloud, though the empty room offered no reply. The air seemed to shift, growing colder, denser. A chill crept along his spine.

The bag twitched.

Startled, the researcher dropped it with a thud. His breath caught as he stared at it, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Did I imagine that?” he whispered.

A soft, childlike giggle echoed through the room.

His head snapped toward the sound, his eyes darting to every shadowed corner. The laughter lingered, faint and eerie, before fading into silence.

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’ve been working too long,” he muttered. “It’s just my mind playing tricks on me.”

He counted slowly to ten, inhaling deeply. When he opened his eyes, the oppressive atmosphere was gone. The air felt normal again.

“See? Just hallucinations,” he said, forcing a chuckle. With a reluctant sigh, he picked up the bag once more.

But the weight was still there.

“Damn thing,” he muttered, shaking it lightly. Reaching inside, he pulled out the first object his hand found—a sample box.

He stared at it, his heart skipping a beat.

“Why is this here?” he whispered. He distinctly remembered returning all four sample boxes to the main researcher yesterday.

He hesitated, then reached for the diary in his shirt pocket. Flipping to yesterday’s entry, he scanned the page. There were five entries—five samples collected.

His breath hitched.

The ink of the fifth entry began to smear and fade before his eyes, as though some unseen hand were erasing it. The page trembled faintly in his grip.

“No, no, no…” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

The air around him grew heavy again, the eerie chill returning tenfold. Shadows in the corners of the room seemed to shift and crawl, drawing closer.

“I need to report this,” he thought, his voice trembling. Clutching the diary tightly, he turned toward the door.

But the bag twitched again.

And the childlike giggle returned, louder this time, echoing in every corner of the room.

The male researcher froze as the childlike laughter filled the room, a sound so sweet it curdled his blood. His heart hammered in his chest, every thud reverberating in his ears.

“No… no…” he muttered, his voice trembling. He spun around, frantically scanning the dim room, shadows flickering and stretching like they were alive.

“Go… I need to go…” he whispered, bolting toward the door.

The handle turned easily under his shaking hand, far too easily. He yanked it open and rushed forward—only to find himself stepping into the same room.

He stopped dead, his breath catching.

“What…?”

He turned back, only to see the same door behind him. He tried again, running through the doorway, but each time, the lab greeted him, its cold, suffocating air pressing down like a lead weight.

The laughter grew louder. Sharper. It wasn’t just one voice anymore—it was many, overlapping, echoing. The sound clawed at his sanity.

“No! Let me out!” he screamed, his voice breaking as he slammed into the door again and again.

By the tenth attempt, he collapsed to his knees, trembling, tears streaking his face. The laughter softened, replaced by something worse: a faint, rhythmic scratching.

The noise was coming from the other side of the door.

He crawled backward, his hands slipping on the cold floor. “Stay away…” he whimpered, his eyes locked on the door.

The scratching stopped.

Then the door creaked open, the sound agonizingly slow. A bloodied hand, small and pale, slipped through the crack, its nails jagged and splintered.

The door swung open fully, revealing a little girl. Her skin was pale, mottled with bruises and deep scars. Blood dripped from her torn dress, pooling around her feet. But it was her face—or lack of one—that made the man’s stomach churn.

A grotesque teddy bear’s head sat where her face should have been, its stitched smile stretched unnaturally wide. Dark, button-like eyes glinted with malice, and something wet dripped from its seams.

“AHHHHHHH!!!”

The man scrambled backward, knocking over a chair in his desperate retreat. He ducked behind a table, clutching his head, his breathing wild and erratic.

The footsteps started.

Soft and deliberate, they echoed through the room. The man clamped his hands over his mouth, muffling his whimpers.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The bag beside him began to move.

At first, it was subtle—a faint tremor. Then it jerked violently, its contents shifting unnaturally.

The man didn’t notice until it was too late.

When he felt the creature close to the table, he decided to make a run for it. But as he stood, something yanked his leg. He crashed to the floor, his head hitting the tiles with a sickening thud.

“What the—” He twisted around, only to see a pale, skeletal arm stretching out from the bag, its claws digging into his ankle.

“No, no, no!” he shrieked, kicking at the arm. But another emerged, then another, until four arms had slithered out, gripping his limbs and torso.

The hands weren’t empty. Each one bore a head—human, but grotesque. Their faces were warped and broken, their mouths wide open as if silently screaming. The man stared into their hollow eyes, his terror paralyzing him.

“LET ME GO!” he screamed, his voice hoarse.

The arms pulled him closer to the bag, dragging him across the floor. He kicked wildly, his shoe connecting with one of the heads, only for it to twist unnaturally and glare at him with fiery rage.

The teddy bear-faced girl stepped closer, her movements unnervingly jerky, her giggle soft and mocking. She crouched beside him, tilting her head as though studying him.

“See you~” she whispered, her voice dripping with sickly sweetness.

Her body ignited. Flames erupted from her tiny frame, spreading like a living thing. They coiled around the man, consuming him and the bag in an instant.

“ARGHHHHHH!!!”

The man’s screams filled the room as the flames seared his flesh. His struggles grew weaker, his voice hoarse and raw until silence fell.

When the fire faded, all that remained was his charred corpse, crumpled and broken on the floor.

The body cracked.

From within, something moved. A pale, delicate hand reached out, splitting the scorched flesh apart as if hatching from an egg.

A figure emerged—a young girl with platinum hair cascading down her shoulders, her crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. She was eerily beautiful, her naked form glistening as though newly born.

Io stretched languidly, her lips curling into a twisted smile as she looked at the corpse.

“It was fun,” she murmured, her voice light and melodic, yet filled with malice.

She placed a hand on her stomach, sighing contentedly. “His despair… so rich. So delicious.”

Her gaze shifted to the tattered bag lying near the body. Kneeling down, she traced her fingers along its edge, humming softly to herself.

“Let’s get going,” she said, standing tall. Her crimson eyes burned with a sinister light as she turned toward the shadows. “Our revenge has only just begun.”

Io sifted through the room but found nothing suitable to wear. Her eyes fell on a white cloth draped over a table, stained faintly with chemical-smelling streaks. It was coarse against her fingers, but she wrapped it around herself without a second thought.

Humming softly, she stepped out of the ruined room, the charred walls behind her fading into shadow. The faint patter of her bare feet against the cold floor was the only sound in the hallway, each step swallowed by the oppressive silence.

She entered the stairwell of the high-rise, and a strange stillness settled over her. The air felt heavier here, as though the walls themselves held their breath. The building was unnervingly empty—silent save for the flickering hum of a failing overhead light that cast distorted shadows against cracked, peeling walls. Io descended slowly, her movements deliberate, as if unwilling to disturb whatever eerie calm lingered.

At the base of the stairs, she paused. A clock hung crookedly on the wall, its chipped surface a testament to years of neglect. Its hands ticked with mechanical precision, pointing to 8:45 a.m.

“School hours,” she murmured, brushing her hair from her face. With one last glance at the clock, she pushed open the exit door and stepped into the street.

Outside, the city felt equally abandoned. Doors were bolted shut, windows sealed, and the wind seemed hesitant to stir. Loose scraps of paper skittered along the cracked pavement, their whispers the only answer to Io’s low, almost melodic hum.

As she walked, her gaze drifted to her arm. She rolled up her sleeve, staring at her unmarked skin. The tattoo-like code that had once defined her existence had vanished completely.

“How can I get into the room now?” she muttered to herself, frustration tightening her expression. She was still lost in thought when she noticed a figure in the distance.

“Luvia?” Io called, her voice sharper than she intended, cutting through the silence like a blade.

The girl froze mid-step. Her wide eyes locked onto Io, and a maelstrom of emotion—relief, fear, anger—flashed across her face before she broke into a sprint.

When she reached Io, she grabbed her shoulders, shaking her slightly. “Where have you been?!” Luvia’s voice cracked with desperation. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

Io tilted her head, her crimson eyes narrowing as she studied Luvia’s flushed face.

“I don’t understand,” Io said, her voice devoid of emotion. “Why bother looking for me?”

“What do you mean, why?” Luvia’s voice rose, a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “You disappeared without a word! I’ve been searching all morning!”

Io gently removed Luvia’s hands from her shoulders, her movements calm but mechanical.

“I don’t understand your purpose,” she said evenly, her tone cold and calculating. “We only met the day before. Why do you care so much? It doesn’t make sense.”

Luvia blinked, as though struck, her hands trembling at her sides.

“Because…” Her voice faltered, her shoulders drooping as her anger softened into something more vulnerable. “Because I care, Io. You’re… important to me.”

Io tilted her head further, her expression unreadable. A faint smile played on her lips, but it was not warm. It was unsettling, her crimson eyes glinting like polished rubies.

“Important?” she repeated slowly. “To you? That’s… strange.” Her voice dropped lower, a chill creeping into her words. “I don’t think you’re treating me as me.”

As the words left her mouth, pieces of the puzzle began to slot into place in Io’s mind. She recalled the subtle shifts in Luvia’s demeanor—the way she spoke carefully, as though Io were fragile, the flicker of recognition in her eyes when Io mentioned the inner city. Then there was the entrance Luvia had tried to hide in the garden, almost panicked to keep Io away.

A picture was forming. One of a girl who had cared for someone like Io before, someone lost. And now, here she was, unknowingly or not, projecting those feelings onto Io.

To be a replacement—again. The thought sent a bitter spark through Io.

“What do you mean?” Luvia’s voice quivered, her confusion growing with Io’s silence.

Io’s gaze darkened, and she took a step forward, her presence unnervingly intense.

“You don’t see me as Io,” she said slowly, her words deliberate, like a knife being twisted. “In your eyes, I’m nothing more than a replacement. Isn’t that right?”

Luvia’s face went pale, the accusation hitting her like a physical blow. She stumbled back, shaking her head weakly.

“That’s not true,” she whispered, but her voice wavered, uncertain.

Io closed the distance between them, her movements slow and deliberate, her head tilting ever so slightly.

“Isn’t it?” she whispered, her voice barely audible but sharp enough to cut. “Who am I to you, really? Someone you care about? Or someone you’ve already lost?”

Luvia’s breathing quickened, her knees giving out as she collapsed to the ground. She tried to speak, but no words came.

“Luvia?” Io’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. She caught the girl just before she hit the ground, her small frame awkwardly supporting Luvia’s weight.

Io sighed, exasperated, adjusting her grip on the unconscious girl. “Such a hassle,” she muttered under her breath. “Not that I feel sorry for her. But leaving her here would be… inconvenient.”

Her crimson eyes flicked down the empty street. The oppressive silence seemed heavier now, as though the world itself recoiled from Io’s presence.

“Why must humans be so heavy?” she grumbled, dragging Luvia inch by inch toward the clinic.

Her humming returned, soft and haunting, an eerie melody that echoed unnaturally in the deserted streets. With every step, Io felt the silence press closer, the world around her folding in like a shroud.